


No Man is an Island

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Enjolras/Feuilly, Beach House, Broken Families, Courferre Week, Elemental Magic, Enjolras & Combeferre - Freeform, Fantasy, Folklore, Islands, Lost Love, M/M, Melancholy, Minor Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Returning Home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:19:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4535940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras smelled of the clean, fresh grasses of the country, the warm golden light of summer sunshine.  There wasn’t a breath of sea air in him, and Combeferre couldn’t explain.  Enjolras wouldn’t understand, no matter how desperately he would try.  So, instead, Combeferre said softly the one thing that Enjolras could understand, “I’m homesick.”</p><p>Breathed out in a whisper in a small space between their bodies, those words were a ragged plea torn from a grief-tightened throat.  Enjolras’ arms tightened around him and he placed a soft kiss into Combeferre’s temple.  He said nothing.  There was nothing to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _August 9, 2015:_** MADE IT BY THE SKIN OF MY TEETH. So, I managed to completely forget that this week was Courferre Week until about... oh... a week ago? And I've been beating my head against things, trying to find something I could write or finish or something for it before today. I found nothing. But a well-timed conversation with [redjacket](http://archiveofourown.org/users/redjacket) last night, along with some recent trips to the beach, spawned this idea for a fic. I don't think I'll be able to finish it by tonight and it's only _just_ getting into the Courferre bits at the end of this chapter, but... it's a start? ^_^ Enjoy!
> 
> [tumblr post](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/126271422362/no-man-is-an-island-chapter-1-3111-words-read).

Wsssssshhhhhhhhh-SSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH-ssssssshhhhhh…

Wsssssshhhhhhhhh-SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-ssssssshhhhhh…

Wsssshhhh-SSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH-ssssssshhhhhh…

Combeferre lay in bed, one ear tuned to the sounds of the waves outside. His heart slowed, his breathing quieted, each in their turn falling into the rhythm of that sound. The ocean tonight was calm, peaceful. It was what he needed. Enjolras had been right about that. Sighing softly, Combeferre rolled over, reaching out one hand to touch the windowsill. There was a cool breeze coming up off the beach, carrying the scent of the mist-laden, salt air that had always smelled like home to him. If he just rolled to his knees, he could lean his entire body out into that air, let the faint spray touch his face. How often had he fallen asleep thus as a child – body curled up against the window, head pillowed on his arms on the sill? Too many times to count, as his mother had once teased. But adolescent bodies are more forgiving than adult ones when sleeping in odd postures and, as tempting as the idea might be, the thought of how stiff he would be come morning was enough to dissuade him from attempting it.

Before even another ten minutes had passed, Combeferre found himself kneeling at the open window, anyway, hands braced on the sill so he could lean out and breathe deeply of the salt air on the breeze. It was just as refreshing as he remembered. His family had moved off the island when Combeferre was twelve, citing a need for his father to be closer to his work. Now that Combeferre worked in the same hospital, he understood that reasoning, but at the time, he had been devastated. He’d lived all his life on this island, the sea on all sides forming the boundaries of his world. Going to the mainland was for special occasions, for visits, an unwelcome necessity. Combeferre was never happy on those visits, no matter how brief they might be. His dreams were full of the island, its gently sloping beaches, the whisper of the waves, and the smell of salt air. He’d never have left if the choice had been his.

That first year away had been awful. There was no window by his bed in his new room, no way to arrange it so there could be -- and even when he stood at the window, straining to smell the ocean… there was nothing. The sea was too far or his nose was too weak. One night he’d awoken in the dark, suddenly unable to remember the sound of the waves, and he’d quietly cried himself back to sleep.

Combeferre had cried himself to sleep on too many nights after leaving the island.

Combeferre couldn’t explain it, but leaving the island had been as hard a blow as losing a parent would have been. There was a hole in his heart where the island had been, and it ached constantly, as though somehow the island needed him just as much as he needed it. It was a year before Combeferre unknotted from his grief enough to look outside himself to consider the new possibilities around him. It was another eight years after that before his parents explained that they hadn’t moved off the island for his father to be closer to work – they’d moved off the island because his parents had feared that he was limiting himself, becoming unwilling to look beyond the shores of the place that had birthed him to find a wider future. They’d told him that they were now sure they’d made the right decision, now that he’d been accepted to medical school inland and was all set to build a grand future for himself – a future that didn’t involve confining himself to a small island in the middle of a wind-swept sea.

It was another four years after that before Combeferre spoke to either of his parents, again. Even now, six years after that, their conversations were stilted, awkward. By moving him away from the island when they did, Combeferre’s parents had taken something from him – something fragile and undefinable and so, so precious – and he’d never again gotten it back. At 33 years old he was an internal medicine specialist – a rising star in the field -- an activist, a writer, and a friend… and he was completely adrift.

Enjolras, his best friend of many years, had finally pulled him aside and suggested that maybe a vacation would be in order. Combeferre had come straight to a meeting of Les Amis from a twelve hour shift at the hospital. He’d been dead on his feet and only sheer cussedness had kept him upright. Marius had said something stupid and Combeferre, unable to watch his tongue with his own nerves so raw, had snapped back at him before he’d even decided he was going to open his own mouth. Heart pounding, head pounding, Combeferre had apologized and fled outside. It wasn’t until Enjolras caught up to him and asked him what he was doing that he even realized he was clutching the railing of the balcony, leaning out into the night air and inhaling as deeply as he could. Enjolras must have thought he was going crazy.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~

“Combeferre… my friend, I’m not going to mince words – I’m worried about you.”

“I’m just tired. It’s nothing a little sleep won’t—“

Enjolras cut him off with a shake of his head. “It isn’t just about tonight. I’ve known you for years, Combeferre, and though I’ve seen you content and seen you satisfied… I don’t think I’ve even once seen you happy.” He reached out, then, and gripped Combeferre’s shoulder. “And it seems to be getting worse, not better.”

Combeferre sighed, deliberately relaxed his muscles. Enjolras merely raised an eyebrow. Finally Combeferre shrugged. “It’s nothing I can easily explain.” He snorted, his lips twitched in a sad facsimile of a smile. “Nothing that you won’t think me ridiculous for, at any rate.”

At that, Enjolras gripped Combeferre’s other shoulder and leaned in close to touch their foreheads together. “I could never think you ridiculous, Combeferre. And I’d never laugh at you; you know that. If it would help, you can tell me anything.”

Combeferre leaned in against him, letting his head fall on Enjolras’ shoulder. Enjolras’ arms went around him, cradling him while he hid his face, veritably cocooning him in the warmth of his friendship. But Enjolras smelled of the clean, fresh grasses of the country, the warm golden light of summer sunshine. There wasn’t a breath of sea air in him, and Combeferre couldn’t explain. Enjolras wouldn’t understand, no matter how desperately he would try. So, instead, Combeferre said softly the one thing that Enjolras could understand, “I’m homesick.”

Breathed out in a whisper in a small space between their bodies, those words were a ragged plea torn from a grief-tightened throat. Enjolras’ arms tightened around him and he placed a soft kiss into Combeferre’s temple. He said nothing. There was nothing to say.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~

Two weeks later, at Enjolras’ insistence, Combeferre had requested a week off from his duties at the hospital. He’d contacted his relatives on the island, asked them to open the house for him – his childhood home that his parents had inexplicably never sold. And just a few days after that, he and Enjolras were on their way to the island – the first time Combeferre had been back in twenty-one years.

Combeferre leaned a little further out the window, inhaling deeply of the ocean air. He couldn’t get enough of it. Even the beaches on the mainland weren’t this richly saturated with that smell. A soft smile lifted his lips as he hung there, fingers clenched tightly on the windowsill, his heart racing. For the first time in years… he felt alive.

Suddenly, Combeferre couldn’t stand to be inside for one more second. Pulling himself back in, he got up off the bed, foregoing footwear, foregoing even a nightshirt, and padding quietly from his room and down the stairs. Even all these years later, he still knew his way through this house better than anywhere he’d lived since. His senses were sharper, his mind faster, his step more sure. It was as though when he’d been away, he’d been only half alive, and now that he was back… he could breathe, again.

Combeferre left the house by the porch door – the one that led straight onto the beach – and the moment his feet touched sand, he was off, racing over the dunes towards the water. In that moment, salt spray stinging his eyes, and sand catching and sticking between his toes, he felt wild, like some creature let loose from captivity, nothing but the light of the moon and stars to guide his flight. Letting out a breathless laugh, he ran faster, years falling away, useless, on the sand, unneeded. He didn’t slow, even when he reached the ocean; he didn’t hesitate, but ran right in, heedless of the fact that he still wore his pajama pants. He didn’t stop until he was calf-deep in the surf, his chest heaving with every breath, his eyes white-rimmed and so, so wide – as wide as the smile he could feel on his face.

Falling to his knees, Combeferre let the waves wash over him, reveling in the sounds they made as they broke over his body, reveling in the smells and the feel and the brisk, deep cold… reveling in the feeling of being alive.

He was home.

The next morning, it was dismal – grey clouds overhead and the smell of rain in the air. There was going to be a storm -- a good one if Combeferre’s rusty weather senses were any judge. He told Enjolras over breakfast.

“A storm?” Enjolras frowned. “We’re right on the beach. Is it safe? Do we have to go further inland?”

Combeferre smiled. “We’ll close the shutters to protect the windows, and we’ll stay inside, but this house has stood for over 200 years. It’s safe enough.”

Enjolras paused, toast halfway to his mouth, then he smiled, too. Reaching out a hand, he gripped Combeferre’s across the table. As Combeferre’s fingers closed around his, Enjolras said, “I think that may be the first time I’ve ever seen you smile – really smile.” He shook his head. “I can’t… I can’t even describe it.” At Combeferre’s lifted eyebrow, Enjolras let go of his hand and made a gesture in his direction. “Even after one night there’s… it’s like there’s a weight that’s been lifted from you.” He made a face. “As clichéd as that may sound.”

Combeferre wrapped his hands around his coffee mug and took a sip. Still smiling that soft smile, he said, “A thing becomes clichéd because it is often true.” It was now Enjolras’ turn to raise an eyebrow. Combeferre shrugged. “I _feel_ as if a weight has been lifted from me. So it seems silly to fuss over clichéd language, when what you said is so apt.”

They resumed their meal in contented silence, neither willing to break the stillness of that grey morning. As they worked together to clean the dishes and later to prepare the house for the storm, still they worked in silence. It was peaceful, comforting, and Combeferre was glad to have Enjolras with him. Without him, the silence would have seemed heavy and oppressive… lonely. With Enjolras at his side, however, the strength of his friendship was never more than an arms’ length away. He felt balanced. He felt steadier than he had in years. For the first time since he was a child, Combeferre knew where he stood, both without and within.

Combeferre took Enjolras down to the sea that day, but they didn’t stray out of sight of the house. With a storm brewing, it wasn’t worth it to take foolish chances. But they stood on the shore, watching the clouds roll in from the sea, breathing the salt air. Combeferre could see already that Enjolras didn’t feel that heavy intoxication that he did when standing thus, but it was enough to know that he stood in support, even if he didn’t understand. Enjolras was a country boy – the open fields and foothills of the great mountains were where his soul called home – so the fact that he was here with Combeferre spoke volumes.

They didn’t go in until a shift in the wind and a drop in pressure alerted Combeferre that the pending storm had become imminent. They made it back to the house just as the first fat rain droplets began to fall. Shaking water from their hair and laughing, Enjolras and Combeferre raced up the stairs to the screened in porch. They’d left it open at Combeferre’s insistence. Somehow he’d known that it would be fine. Besides, he’d always loved to watch from here as a storm swept in from the sea. Grabbing a towel for himself and handing one to Enjolras, Combeferre settled into one of the chairs, his eyes on the shoreline. From the low rumble that he could practically feel in his bones, this particular storm was going to be spectacular. He felt a brief pang for his camera, safely stowed in his old dresser upstairs, but decided against going to get it. His first storm back on the island… somehow it felt almost sacrilegious to let anything more than a screen stand between him and it.

Once he’d dried off, Enjolras said something about heading in to make tea. Combeferre nodded absently, and as soon as Enjolras left he was out of his chair and pressed to the screen. The sky had darkened, the wind whipped the dune grasses into a frenzy, and the rain lashed against the sand, flattening it. The smell of the ocean was everywhere. The air was so ionized that it was with a flash of relief that Combeferre saw the first bolt of lightning go to ground, the thunder crashing right on top of it. The waves leapt with almost playful fury, beating against the sand and reaching so far up the beach that Combeferre began to wonder if, this time, it would reach the house.

Combeferre stared out into that storm-tossed darkness for what felt like hours – long after Enjolras came back and tried to press a mug into his hand. He’d eventually put it down on a table nearby, Combeferre being so distracted he hardly noticed. The storm was electric and he could feel it all the way down to his bones. How had he ever moved away from this? Why had it taken him so long to return?

…how on Earth was he ever going to convince himself to leave again?

Heart suddenly pounding in his throat, Combeferre stepped back from the window and reached for that long-cold cup of tea, taking a sip to cover his sudden discomfort. How _was_ he going to convince himself to leave? And did he even want to try? He had a life on the mainland. He had a career, friends, a cause he believed in. He had Enjolras. But this… Enjolras had been more on the nose than he realized those short weeks ago. Combeferre had so much waiting for him on the mainland… but he would never be truly happy there. Not like this.

Combeferre turned to take one more glance out the window, ready to go inside at least long enough to reheat his tea… and froze. There was someone on the beach. He was standing right at the shoreline, hands raised to the heavens like some witch straight out of folklore. The wind tore at his clothing, whipped his hair into a wild tangle over his head, and he seemed to pay it no mind, all his attention turned outwards towards the sea. Lightning crashed around him, one bolt going to ground not more than six inches from his foot, and still he didn’t move. Combeferre’s mouth went dry, his heart began to race. Putting his mug down as quickly as he could without breaking it, Combeferre turned towards the door. It was only then that Enjolras interfered.

Grabbing Combeferre’s arm, Enjolras pulled him back from the door. “Are you out of your mind? You can’t go back out there!”

Combeferre turned back to the window, made a wild gesture towards the figure by the ocean. “But someone _is_ out there! If someone doesn’t get him to come inside he could be killed! This storm is no joke, Enjolras!”

Enjolras stared out into the rain, a deep frown drawing lines between his brows. Finally he said, “What on Earth are you talking about? Combeferre, there’s no one out there.”

“What?” Combeferre jerked out of Enjolras’ hold and pressed himself back against the screen. The figured had turned, was now in profile as he stared out across the ocean. He wore jeans – now soaked against him like a second skin – and a long sleeved shirt so rain-drenched that Combeferre couldn’t tell what color it was except “dark.” His feet were bare and dug deeply into the sand. Turning back, Combeferre reached out and pulled Enjolras to stand in front of him at the window, turning Enjolras’ head so it faced the figure dead on. “He’s right there! Right at the shore line. How can you not see him?”

Enjolras pulled Combeferre’s hands from his head and turned, reaching out to wrap a hand around Combeferre neck and pull him down to meet his eyes. Slowly, punctuating each word with a flex of his fingers, Enjolras said, “Because there is no one there. Combeferre, you’re seeing things. There’s no one there!”

Combeferre broke out of Enjolras’ hold and this time he made it to the door. He flung it open, ready to take that step down onto the galvanized sand, but suddenly the figure at the shore turned and locked his gaze on him. Later on, Combeferre would only remember broken pieces of that moment -- the quirk of lips that meant a smile full of mischief, the raised eyebrows over dark brown eyes, the tilt of a head that in any other circumstance would read ‘come hither’ – but for now, all Combeferre saw was a face that he knew as well as he knew his own. Better. A face he’d lost to the ravages of time some twenty-one years hence, though he'd once sworn he would never forget it.

And the shock of seeing it was enough that when Enjolras reached for him again, pulling him back inside and locking the door before pulling him back into the house proper and locking that door as well, all he could do was let out a cracked whisper that even he barely recognized as a name…

_Courfeyrac._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**  
>  Feel free to come say hello on tumblr -- you can find me at [eirenical](http://eirenical.tumblr.com)! ^_^
> 
> [Tumblr fic post](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/126271422362/no-man-is-an-island-chapter-1-3111-words-read).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre remembered the storm, remembered running back to the house, Enjolras at his side, racing to beat the lightning. He remember standing on the porch, watching the storm as it rolled in off the ocean. And he remembered what he’d seen. Looking back on it now, no longer drunk off the storm and the sizzling energy in the air, that vision seemed no more substantial than a dream.
> 
> Then again… Courfeyrac never had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _August 15, 2015:_** And I'm on a roll, apparently. ;D I don't know what it is about this story that's working so well for my muse, but I'm not going to question it. I'm just going to enjoy the ride. I hope you do, too!
> 
> [tumblr fic post](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/126800077717/no-man-is-an-island-6722-words-chapter-2).

Combeferre slept, and in sleeping dreamed.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~

It was a warm day, the early days of summer, and Combeferre’s parents were far up the beach, making sandwiches for lunch. Combeferre had wandered down to the shore, searching for seashells in the sand. He already had a handful – three nearly intact clam shells – and soon he’d have to bring them back to his parents before resuming his search unless he found a bigger one to carry them in. He turned back, gauging how far he was from his parents, how close he was to the shore line. He wasn’t to go in the water alone. It was dangerous to go in the water alone.

A glint of something white and opalescent caught Combeferre’s attention. It was peaking up out of the sand, just a few inches from the water line. Combeferre stood there for a minute, watching the water edge closer and closer to that beautiful shell. With each passing wave, more and more of the sand surrounding it washed away. In another few minutes, it would sweep the shell out to sea, too. Maybe… maybe if he ran, he could get to the shell before the water did.

Combeferre looked back towards his parents once more. They were still preparing lunch, still not looking. If he was quick… if he was really quick… maybe they’d never even know he’d disobeyed. And he wasn’t going to go _in_ the water. Just… close to it. It would be all right. Deep in his heart, he knew the ocean wouldn’t hurt him. This was his island. This was his ocean. Nothing could hurt him here.

Step by careful step, Combeferre crept closer to the desired shell, one eye on the surf and one on his parents. Just as he reached the shell, he took one last look back to check on his parents… and was knocked right off his feet by the force of the wave that came up behind him. He went down hard on his hands and knees as the wave broke over his back, coughing and spluttering as he fought to keep his head above water. Moments later, the wave began to recede, pulling his body with it, tumbling end over end, and Combeferre couldn’t get his feet back under him! He swam for all he was worth, scrambling to touch the sand, desperate for purchase on anything. And just as he was about to be swept too far out to reach the ground—a hand caught his flailing one.

The person who’d caught him pulled him close against a broad, warm chest and lifted him spluttering out of the water. Combeferre shivered against him, equal parts hopeful that his father had come to save him and terrified of what his father would say about Combeferre breaking the rules. When they reached the shore, and Combeferre was put down, he finally managed to stop shaking and look up… only to see that the one who’d saved him wasn’t his father. It was another boy, not much bigger than he was, with dark curly hair and dark eyes. And even half-drowned, scared, and disoriented, Combeferre knew that wasn’t possible. No one his size could have fought the ocean and won. Combeferre settled back on his haunches, starting to feel like he should be indulging in a really good cry right about now. Not only had he almost drowned, but he’d lost all his shells, too!

The boy who’d saved him opened his eyes wide at the telltale tremble in Combeferre’s lip and waved his hands frantically in front of him. Combeferre swallowed his tears just long enough to see what he was doing. The boy searched around himself, feeling around in the sand, then suddenly smiled and held up the biggest, most beautiful shell Combeferre had ever seen. It was blue and purple and black and iridescent like Combeferre had always thought a dragon scale should be. He’d never seen anything like it. The boy held it out, a small smile on his face.

Combeferre swallowed hard and asked, “For… for me?”

The boy nodded, his smile widening. 

Combeferre reached out and took the shell. “Thank you. For this and…” Combeferre’s eyes widened then. “Wait! You saved my life! I should be giving _you_ a present!”

The boy shook his head, waved his hands in front of his chest in a gesture that Combeferre somehow understood meant “No.”

“But--?”

The boy shook his head again. He then reached out his small hands to cup Combeferre’s face, leaned forward, and touched their foreheads together. When he leaned back, he shrugged, then turned and pointed up the beach. Combeferre turned to look and saw that his parents had finally noticed that he had wandered much farther away than he ought to have and were racing across the sands to him. Combeferre turned back to invite the boy to lunch – it was the least he could do, he figured – but by the time he turned back around… the boy was gone.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~

Combeferre woke in darkness and, for a moment, didn’t know where he was. The softness beneath him and the light weight over him suggested that he was in a bed… but where? He didn’t remember even going upstairs, much less getting into bed, and his own room had never been this dark, even on a night with no moon. Combeferre fumbled his way out of the covers and onto his knees. No sounds met his movements; there was no voice in the dark to tell him whether or not he was alone.

Tentatively, Combeferre swung his hands in an arc before him. As he reached the leftmost point in the swing, his fingers finally encountered what he was searching for – a wall. Easing closer to it, Combeferre pulled himself over to the window ledge. When he reached the cool glass of the window, he pushed it up, breathing a sigh of relief when his questing hands met the wood of the heavy shutters. That explained why it was so dark.

As quietly as he could manage, Combeferre unlatched the shutters and gently pushed them back, reaching outside to secure them so they wouldn’t bang against the house later and wake Enjolras if he was asleep. Immediately upon opening the shutters, his room was filled with the soft glowing light of the moon and the stars as they reflected off the ocean. The scent of the ocean was strong tonight, and there was a heavy dampness in the air; the atmosphere was churned up still from the earlier storm. The ocean, however… the ocean was calm. Combeferre leaned against the windowsill and took in a deep breath of that spray-laden air as he waited for his mind to wake and his thoughts to settle.

What had happened earlier? Combeferre remembered the storm, remembered running back to the house, Enjolras at his side, racing to beat the lightning. He remember standing on the porch, watching the storm as it rolled in off the ocean. And he remembered what he’d seen. Looking back on it now, no longer drunk off the storm and the sizzling energy in the air, that vision seemed no more substantial than a dream.

Then again… Courfeyrac never had.

Combeferre remembered. Courfeyrac had never visited when Combeferre’s parents were there; he always waited until they’d gone into the house or into the ocean or into a store before showing his face. He never came around when Combeferre’s other friends were there, either. Combeferre had thought it a game at the time, had even laughed and gone along with it when people started referring to Courfeyrac as his imaginary friend. He couldn’t prove otherwise, so he hadn’t even tried. His parents had never worried over it, so neither had he. He had other friends, after all, friends who would gladly show their faces to his parents. Courfeyrac’s shyness of everyone but Combeferre was part of his charm, and it made him that much more dear to Combeferre, somehow, knowing that Courfeyrac was his and his alone.

But now… after all these years of no contact, why would Courfeyrac even have been willing to show his face when Combeferre returned? And why had Enjolras not seen him? It was easy enough to rationalize it away, of course. Combeferre’s eyes were sharper than Enjolras’. Enjolras had worn his glasses that day and perhaps they’d fogged over from the humidity. Perhaps he hadn’t cleaned them well after being out in the rain. Perhaps the very rain had hidden Courfeyrac from view. Perhaps Enjolras’ own fear had fooled him into thinking no one was there when someone was.

…perhaps Combeferre’s had done the opposite.

There was so very many reasons why Combeferre might have seen Courfeyrac while Enjolras hadn’t. So very, very many. Just as there had always been. But somehow, to the adult that Combeferre now was, those reasons sounded hollow, suspicious in ways they never had as a child. As a child, he’d been swept up in the gravitational pull around Courfeyrac; he’d simply been along for the ride and glad of it. But now…? Now Combeferre had questions, and there was only one person who had the answers. But if there was one thing Combeferre had always understood, it was that Courfeyrac went where he would and came when he wanted, and no amount of wishing it otherwise would change his nature. Combeferre would have to be patient and, in the meantime, somehow reassure Enjolras that he had not, in fact, gone insane; that it was safe for them to stay.

…but how?

Combeferre woke the next morning curled up against the window, as he had so often as a child. Unlike then, however, he was stiff and sore and shivering from the cold sea breeze. Growing older did have its detriments. With a slowly exhaled breath, Combeferre eased himself out of his cramped position and stood, taking the time to stretch his back as he did. A quick glance at the clock showed that the power was out; another glance at his phone told him that his battery was nearly drained and it was after 10 o’clock – much later than he usually woke. He was surprised that Enjolras hadn’t come to check on him, yet. Taking that for the blessing it was, Combeferre moved across the hall to the bathroom and took care of his morning needs. He then crept back across the hall to dress and brush his hair. He didn’t want to have his first confrontation with Enjolras after yesterday still clothed in his pajamas and squinting the sleep from his eyes.

Once he was satisfied that he looked less like a lost child or an invalid, and more like the professional adult he was, Combeferre started down the stairs. As he reached the bottom, however, he began to hear the murmur of speech – from more than one voice. He moved towards the wall and slowly edged closer to the kitchen, trying his best to stay out of sight as he listened in on the conversation.

“I’m telling you, he _scared_ me. He almost ran right out into a lightning storm. What if he’d gotten past me? What if I hadn’t been there? Look, I don’t know what’s going on with him. I thought he was just tired, that he just needed a vacation, but I’m beginning to think that there’s more to this than simple exhaustion.”

There was a brief pause then another voice took up the thread of the conversation – another voice that Combeferre knew well, a voice that didn’t belong here. He briefly entertained the thought that perhaps Enjolras was using his phone on speaker, but the other voice was far too clear for that. Combeferre crept closer, just close enough to glance into the kitchen. Sure enough… Enjolras wasn’t alone. Though the other man’s back was to him, Combeferre had no difficulty recognizing Feuilly. 

Moments later, Feuilly spoke, and Combeferre edged back again, so as not to get caught eavesdropping. “That’s just it, Enjolras. He _is_ exhausted, both mentally and physically. You’ve heard Joly talk about the hours they put in at the hospital. Some nights, Combeferre is barely home before he’s back out the door again for his next shift. That kind of exhaustion can play all kinds of havoc with a person’s head. Believe me, I’d know. I used to run myself into the ground regularly before I learned better. I’m not surprised he’s acting a little off. Honestly, I’d be more concerned if he wasn’t.”

Enjolras’ voice again, stronger this time, and accompanied by a thump that had to be his hand hitting the table. “ _You’re not hearing me._ This is significantly more than him acting ‘a little off’. He’s seeing things. He hallucinated a person out in the storm. Who knows what might be wrong with him? I just… I don’t know what to do. I’d take him home to get checked out right now if I didn’t think he’d fight me.”

Feuilly’s voice, now pitched higher and climbing as he spoke. “Fight you? Combeferre? What the hell, Enjolras? That’s not his style.”

“You didn’t see him yesterday. You weren’t here when I practically had to tackle him to keep him from running back out into a storm. You weren’t here when he all but passed out before I even got him into bed.” A pause before Enjolras continued. “What if he’s sick? What if there’s something really wrong?”

There was a long pause, then, before either man spoke again. It was a pause during which Combeferre found himself counting each one of his breaths, each thundering beat of his heart, and both seemed far too loud. The longer the silence stretched, the more convinced he was that any minute now, either Enjolras or Feuilly was going to hear those pounding heartbeats, those shallow, raspy breaths, and turn to find him listening in on their conversation. And that very fear was ludicrous. Enjolras and Feuilly were his friends. They were there to help. But this conversation… it felt far too much like the ones he’d overheard his parents having all those years ago – the ones which had led to them moving off the island. And he was _not_ risking that again. Not now that he’d finally gotten back.

Feuilly eventually broke the silence, his voice hushed, as though he, too, feared he might be overheard. “There’s no point in jumping to conclusions. If it’s something medical, our best chance at finding out is to talk to Combeferre, himself. If it’s psychological, well… everyone else will be down tomorrow and between Jehan and I, one of us should be able to get him to talk. In the meantime, just try to act normally. This is Combeferre we’re talking about. He’s the most sensible one among us. I’m sure he’s fine.”

There was a soft scrape as a chair moved against the stone of the kitchen floor, and then Enjolras’ voice, again. “Right. This _is_ Combeferre that we’re talking about. Combeferre, who once sat out on a roof all night in 20 below weather trying to catch a glimpse of a comet and ended up sick in bed for a week. This is Combeferre, who was so convinced that there was a poltergeist in our old apartment building that one night he spread so much salt in the doorways and on the windowsills to try to keep it out that it took months to get it all cleaned up. This is Combeferre, who got so distracted by things he was reading on the Internet that he didn’t sleep at all the night before taking his medical licensing exam.” There was a another soft scrape and moments later, Enjolras was pacing – coming into view in the doorway and then moving away. “I hope you’re right and that it’s nothing. But ‘sensible’ and ‘Combeferre’ really don’t belong in the same sentence, and I’m honestly surprised that more of you haven’t figured that out by now. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’m just going to keep on worrying until I’m sure I don’t have a reason to.”

Feuilly sighed and there was another soft scrape as he pushed his chair back, as well. A moment later, Combeferre watched as Feuilly moved into view from the doorway, caught at Enjolras’ arm, and pulled him close. Enjolras stiffened for a moment, then sagged in his arms all at once, tucking his face into the crook of Feuilly’s neck. Combeferre felt a brief pang then, knowing that he’d caused Enjolras such grief and knowing that he wasn’t there to support him, as Enjolras had done for him all those weeks ago. This vacation was supposed to have been fun, a relaxing time away for them both. There was no excuse for worrying Enjolras as he had done yesterday, as he was still doing today. He had to do better.

Combeferre gave Enjolras and Feuilly a few moments to comfort each other, then stepped up to the kitchen doorway and cleared his throat. Enjolras startled, jerking back out of Feuilly’s embrace as though he’d been caught doing something wrong, but not much startled Feuilly. He merely half-turned in Combeferre’s direction and inclined his head. Jehan had commented once that Feuilly had the senses of a woodland animal – always active and always ready. Feuilly had been jumpy as a woodland creature once, too, back when they’d first met him, but that had eased over time. Now, this preternatural unflappability was all that remained of that original jumpiness. And Combeferre wasn’t above admitting (to himself, at least) that with so many preternatural things happening already, he found it more unsettling than usual. He cleared his throat again and said, “I heard you talking.”

Enjolras let out a soft gasp, but again, Feuilly merely nodded. “How much did you overhear?”

Swallowing hard against a lump that rose unbidden into his throat, Combeferre said, “Everything. I…” Combeferre turned towards Enjolras, reaching a hand out until Enjolras edged forwards and took it. “Enjolras, I’m sorry I scared you. And I know how this is going to sound, but I’m not going crazy and I’m not ill.” He took a deep breath, then continued. “But if it will make you feel better, I will be happy to go to the local doctor and get examined, and I’ll let Jehan and Feuilly pick over my mental state with a fine toothed comb. Just… don’t take me away. Not yet. Please.” Feeling his eyes begin to itch and burn with the weight of unshed tears and his face heat with shame at the same time, Combeferre ducked his head and whispered, “I need more time.”

Moments later, two pairs of arms went around him, and Combeferre reached out to embrace Enjolras and Feuilly in return. No more was said then about yesterday’s near disastrous happenings, nor about Combeferre’s offer to get himself checked out by the local physician. Instead, they piled into Feuilly’s car to head into town and get a late breakfast each trying to act in their own way as though nothing untoward had happened.

The peaceful spell wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Especially not now that Combeferre knew that his quiet getaway week with his best friend was about to turn into a raucous, noisy party week with _all_ of his friends. It wasn’t what he’d wanted, but in the end, it might be for the best. After all, with so many people to act as distractors, Combeferre might even have a chance to slip away and find the one man who could prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he hadn’t been seeing things – Courfeyrac.

By the time they returned to the house, loaded down with gas for the generator, several large bags of ice, a cooler, and a bag full of nonperishable groceries, Feuilly had cajoled Enjolras into a better mood. Enjolras had stopped shooting Combeferre worried looks every other minute and had relaxed enough to laugh at the occasional joke or two. For that alone, Combeferre would have been grateful for Feuilly’s presence, but he found himself even more grateful for the way that simply being around Feuilly calmed both of their nerves… or he never would have been able to keep his cool when he saw what was waiting for him on the porch when they returned home.

Sitting innocently in the middle of Combeferre’s favorite chair was a shell. It was blue and purple and black and iridescent like Combeferre had always thought a dragon scale should be. Combeferre had only seen it’s like once before… and he’d thought that shell lost 21 years ago.

Grabbing the shell and tucking it quickly out of sight in the pocket of his sweater, Combeferre slipped out the porch door and onto the beach. But, try as he might, he could find no sign of a visitor. The residual winds from the storm had wiped the sand clean of any evidence. Still, he stayed out there searching until Enjolras and Feuilly called him in for dinner.

Had Combeferre stayed out even a minute longer, he might have seen it when a figure dropped lightly down from the porch roof where he’d been hiding and watching. Combeferre might have seen that figure turn and press himself to the kitchen window for a brief moment, watching as they set up for dinner, before turning and sprinting off down the beach, his tousled hair whipping around in the evening wind.

But Combeferre didn’t stay and so he didn’t see. And he certainly didn’t hear the figure whisper to his retreating back as he went inside...

“Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who left such lovely comments last time! As before, this is unbeta'ed and edited by me alone. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Feel free to come find me on tumblr at [eirenical](http://eirenical.tumblr.com) \-- I promise I don't bite! ^_^
> 
> [tumblr fic post](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/126800077717/no-man-is-an-island-6722-words-chapter-2).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre turned onto his side and curled one arm beneath his head. Every one of his friends was a reminder of the life he led on the mainland, and, right now, they were just one more wedge between himself and the island. They were out of tune with this place, out of step with its rhythm. And somehow… somehow Combeferre just knew that as long as they were here, Courfeyrac wouldn’t be. Just as before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _November 1, 2015:_** I didn't intend to leave this so long. I feel like a broken record every time I say that, but it's true. I'd like to be able to tell you that I'll get faster at updating, but I gave up making that promise about a year ago. It's just been that kind of year. :P That being said, I'm reading--voraciously, I might add--for the first time in OVER a year and it feels damned good to be able to say that. And, lo and behold, with reading, comes writing. And for the first time in a long time, I felt inspired to write this week. So, I wrote. ^_^ It's a little shorter than the other chapters, but it IS a chapter. So. That's not nothing, right? ^_^ Anyway, I'm not so ambitious as to attempt NaNo along with Yuletide and all the other things I have going on right now, but I am going to try to write more this month. I've missed it and I've missed these stories and I've missed all of you. Hopefully at least a few of you have missed me, too. ^_~
> 
> Anyway, without any further ado... enjoy! ^_^
> 
> [tumblr post](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/132341521572/no-man-is-an-island-9140-words-chapter-3).
> 
> * * *

This day was just as grey as the last had been. There was a chill in the air, leftover from the storm, or perhaps an early warning of further storms to come. Combeferre was sitting on the beach, fingers sifting idly through the sand as he stared out at the waves. The sea was restless with high tides, waves crashing against the breakwaters and sending geysers of sea foam into the air. The air practically sizzled with energy, and Combeferre felt the potential lightning like an ache in his bones.

With a deep sigh, Combeferre let himself fall back into sand, squinting his eyes shut against the glare overhead. He should be inside. He should be with his friends. They’d arrived practically en masse this morning, with only a few stragglers running late, and had wasted no time in claiming various parts of his home as their own. Combeferre didn’t mind. He really was happy they were here. He just wished they weren’t so loud. 

Except ‘loud’ wasn’t really the word. 

Combeferre turned onto his side and curled one arm beneath his head. Every one of his friends was a reminder of the life he led on the mainland, and, right now, they were just one more wedge between himself and the island. They were out of tune with this place, out of step with its rhythm. And somehow… somehow Combeferre just knew that as long as they were here, Courfeyrac wouldn’t be. Just as before. 

Combeferre closed his eyes, letting the sound of the waves wash over him. He was close enough to feel the deep throb as each wave crashed against the sand, but was far enough back from the shore line that he was in no danger of being swamped. It was safe enough. Safe enough to close his eyes. Safe enough to relax. Safe enough to let go. Safe enough…

When Combeferre next drifted back into awareness, it was to the feel of gentle fingers stirring his hair. The touch was soothing, feather light, and he was loathe to move and scare off whoever was doing it. Even so, his heart began to race. How many times had he fallen asleep on the beach as a child just to awaken to Courfeyrac’s fingers in his hair or stroking his back? Was it too much to hope that he might open his eyes to find that it was Courfeyrac this time, as well? 

“Good morning, sleepy.” 

Combeferre shut his eyes tightly at those softly murmured words; as other memories crashed harshly against those of Courfeyrac. These memories were brighter, more frenetic—the surge of adrenaline brought on by realizing he’d slept through an alarm yet again, the soft voice of his roommate making sure that they both made it to class on time, regardless. Freshman anatomy, caffeine laced study sessions lasting until the wee hours of the morning, nervous breakdowns when the workload became too much, hours spent hiding under the covers of one bed or the other, spooned together as they took turns between them, holding the one who needed comfort. There was darkness in those memories… but there was light, too. 

Combeferre opened his eyes, turned his head to take in the figure above him, so kindly blocking the glare. “Jehan. When did you get in?” 

Jehan smiled, continued stroking Combeferre’s hair with that gentle touch. “Not long after you fled the chaos of Bahorel attempting to hand out room assignments, from what I’ve been told. I don’t blame you. I’d not have stayed long in that bedlam, either.” Jehan turned away, towards the ocean, and his smile widened, creasing the skin at the corners of his eyes. “This is certainly a more pleasing atmosphere. You have a lovely home, Combeferre. Seeing it in person, one wonders how you ever could have left.” 

In spite of the serenity all but rolling off of Jehan as he spoke, Combeferre found himself tensing at those words. Jehan had always been insightful—a trait that served him well in his chosen branch of medicine—and Combeferre had seen how quickly he could use that insight to flay a person to the quick. Jehan, his friend, wouldn’t do that to him; Combeferre had faith. But Jehan, who had doubtless had his ear talked off by now with Enjolras’ worries? Jehan, the psychiatrist? There were no guarantees. 

Combeferre pulled away from the soothing touch of Jehan’s hands and sat up, drawing his legs up and hugging them to his chest. Softly, he said, “You’d have to ask my parents if you’d like an explanation for that.” 

Jehan let out a soft sigh and shifted closer, pressing himself against Combeferre’s body and dropping his head to rest on Combeferre’s shoulder. “That wasn’t an attempt at psychoanalyzing you. It was merely a personal observation.” 

Combeferre tilted his head to rest against Jehan’s. “Sometimes it’s hard to know when you draw the line, Jehan.” 

Another sigh. “I promised you years ago that I wouldn’t pull that on you without your consent. I haven’t forgotten. If you want my professional services, you’re going to have to ask for them explicitly, just like everyone else.” 

“But Enjolras—“

“All due respect to our fearless leader… fuck Enjolras.” 

Combeferre’s eyes widened and he lifted his head, turned to try to catch Jehan’s expression, a move that proved futile from this angle. “Jehan!” 

Jehan rolled an eye up to meet Combeferre’s gaze. “Look. I know why Enjolras asked me to come. He wanted me to take you apart and figure out which gear is out of alignment so I can adjust it and get you running again the way you ought to be.” Jehan sat up, turned to meet Combeferre’s gaze head on, a fierce scowl on his face. “He means well. He really does, but even as close as you two are, I still understand you better. And I think he’s jumping the gun on assuming there’s something wrong with you, but if _you_ want my professional opinion, here it is: You’re upset, you’re exhausted, and you’re overwhelmed. I can tell that just by looking at you.” He snorted. “Hell, I could practically curl up and go to sleep in the bags under your eyes. But that doesn’t mean that you’re having a breakdown. You haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. You’re back in your childhood home—a home you never wanted to leave in the first place—for the first time in over two decades. You had a life threatening experience not even 48 hours ago. And as if that weren’t enough, you’ve had your quiet week with your best friend turned into a house party of eight loud, noisy, well-meaning but intrusive people.” Jehan bumped Combeferre’s shoulder with his own and offered him a small smile. “Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t taken a machete to anyone yet. _I_ would have.” 

Combeferre stared at Jehan for a moment. Jehan stared right back. After another minute, the corner of Jehan’s lips began to twitch. Moments after that, Combeferre’s twitched in return. That was all it took to have the two leaning against each other, again, laughing until tears leaked from their eyes. When they had calmed but for an occasional stray chuckle, Combeferre bumped Jehan’s shoulder, a genuine smile on his face. “I’ve missed these little chats of ours.” 

Jehan snorted. “Speak for yourself, because I sure haven’t. Life was supposed to get _easier_ after med school. We shouldn’t have to do this to each other anymore.” 

Combeferre sighed and laid down in the sand once more, this time with his head resting in Jehan’s lap. Jehan smiled down at him and started absently petting his hair, again. Combeferre closed his eyes. “It’s not supposed to get easier, I don’t think. Just more familiar. Life doesn’t get easier. There’s always a new challenge to face. And this one is mine, I suppose.” 

There was a pause, then, a break in the gentle stroking, and Jehan asked, voice tentative, “With the full understanding that this is a loaded question, especially coming from me… do you want to talk about it?” 

Combeferre opened his eyes. Jehan’s face was relaxed, easy to read. One eyebrow lifted, eyes open but not widened, one corner of his lips quirked upwards--honest concern, nothing more. Still… Combeferre shook his head. “Not yet, Jehan. But I appreciate the offer.” 

Jehan said nothing, simply resumed his gentle stroking. Sometimes, there was just nothing more to say.

* * *

Dinner had been a hodge-podge affair. They’d had to finish off the last of the perishable food, so they’d ended up making a party of it and having a picnic out on the beach. The moon and stars made it light enough to see by, and it was better than staying cooped up indoors. But eventually yawns had started interrupting speech for even the heartiest of them and they’d headed back inside. Combeferre had no idea what sleeping arrangements had been made except that Enjolras was still sleeping in the master bedroom that had once belonged to Combeferre’s parents. It was the largest bedroom in the house, having room not just for a reading nook, but a large balcony, as well. Combeferre used to play out there as a child while his mother sat inside, curled in her armchair and reading. He also used to play out there when she wasn’t around, though he wasn’t supposed to be alone out there. Then again… he never really had been.

Courfeyrac had been with him.

…hadn’t he?

Sighing heavily, Combeferre turned up the hall to his own room. But when he reached it, there were several things amiss. There was a sleeping bag in one corner. An air mattress. A duffel bag and suitcase… and Marius was sitting on the floor in the middle of it all, an apologetic look on his face.

It made sense. It really did. The house wasn’t so large that they could afford to be picky about who slept where with nine people to accommodate. Still, Combeferre had somehow thought that his bedroom would stay off limits. This was his house, after all, and he was the one having the quasi-nervous breakdown. Then again, maybe that was the point. Maybe Enjolras thought that having someone in the room with him would prevent him from doing anything stupid, like sneaking out of the house with another storm in the air.

Combeferre’s fists clenched, his jaw quickly following suit. He wasn’t a child. He wasn’t in need of babysitting. Certainly not from Marius, of all people. Combeferre backed out of the room and retreated to the bathroom to wash up for bed, his face burning. When he got back, Marius was tucked into his sleeping bag—asleep, or pretending to be so, and Combeferre honestly didn’t care which. If it helped him avoid saying something hurtful that Marius really didn’t diserve, then it was just fine. Combeferre changed into pajamas and climbed into his own bed. His last action before lying down was to open the window as wide as it could go. He needed to be able to hear, to smell, to _feel_ the waves crashing below. It was the only way he’d have any peace, now.

That done, Combeferre turned towards the wall, resolutely closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath. The ocean had settled as the day wore on towards evening, calming itself in a way that relaxed the rest of his friends, but had only made Combeferre tense. There was a reason for the phrase “the calm before the storm” and this was it. Before some storms, the sea would calm, begin to draw back. And when those storms broke, they broke with a ferocity unlike any other. But until this one did, Combeferre needed that window open, needed what little connection he could get to the sea while he could still get it, to fight the feeling that, yet again, he was running out of time.

The sound of the waves slowly filled Combeferre’s ears, filtering out most of the noises made by his friends settling in for the night… all but one. Ears straining to catch any stray sound rising from the waves below, Combeferre also caught the soft, gentle sigh from across the room. It was a sound he knew. He had made that sound with the first breath he’d taken of the salt air of the island when he returned. It was a sound of belonging, a sound of gratitude... a sound of peace. And since he had not been the one to make it this time, it must have been Marius who had.

Turning over quietly so as not to give himself away, Combeferre took in Marius’ form. He was still facing away, still curled in on himself, hunched away from Combeferre’s earlier anger. Only now Combeferre could see—plain as day in the light of the moon—that there was a soft smile on his face that Combeferre also recognized. It was a smile that he had never seen on Marius’ face before… a smile that made Combeferre wonder if, like Enjolras had noticed about him, he’d ever truly seen Marius happy before this moment. He’d never taken enough notice before to know for certain, but suddenly he suspected that it was so.

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough for Combeferre to reach across that gap and talk to Marius about the things on his mind. They were still far too personal, and, even with this slim connection, Combeferre didn’t know Marius well enough. All he knew was that their politics occasionally differed and that Marius had a grandfather with whom he hardly spoke. That wasn’t enough, not even for a philosophical conversation held in the dark of night. 

Sighing, Combeferre turned back towards the window. The moon reflecting off the waves below had filled the room with ripples of soft, blue light. As a child, those undulating patterns combined with the sounds of the waves had been better than a mobile and lullaby at putting him to sleep. He was not so easily lulled as he had once been, especially not with Marius’ soft snores acting as a counterpoint to the melody of the waves, but even he couldn’t fight sleep forever. Eventually, he drifted, eyes fluttering shut.

And if he thought he felt the gentle stirring of fingers in his hair just before he fell asleep, come morning he would most likely think it a dream, and nothing more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Thank you all for stopping by and I hope you enjoyed it! If you ever want to wander over and say hello, you can find me on tumblr at [eirenical](http://eirenical.tumblr.com). Thanks again! ^_^
> 
> [tumblr post](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/132341521572/no-man-is-an-island-9140-words-chapter-3).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Enjolras worries. You know that better than any of us. So, I think you understand full well that my agreeing to this had less to do with a concern for your state of health and more to do with a concern for his state of mind.” When Combeferre slowly nodded, Joly smiled again. “Good. Then we can move on past this and get to the crux of it. Jehan would never press you—that’s a line he won’t cross—and Enjolras wouldn’t know how.” He looked up. “But I do, and I will.”
> 
> The smile slipped from Joly’s face then and he leaned forward, locking Combeferre’s gaze with his own. In that look was a culmination of a thousand late nights on emergency shifts together. In that frown was scores of shared breakdowns over lives lost in spite of heroic efforts. In the bags under narrowed eyes were the hundreds of large coffees bought for each other in lieu of proper meals. Joly understood him in ways that no one else in their group ever would, and Combeferre couldn’t answer that understanding with anything less than full honesty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _September 29, 2016:_** Sometimes, it takes the prerequisite amount of angst to get my writing juices going. Sometimes it takes a desperate need to escape certain nonsense going on in my own life. Sometimes it takes a glorious turn in the weather that brings about the kind of storms that once inspired this story. Sometimes it takes all three. Either way, I'm writing again, and I couldn't be happier. Here's hoping I can keep it going! ^_^
> 
> [tumblr post](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/151121044782/no-man-is-an-island-12881-words-chapter-4).

Combeferre awoke with a deep, dull ache at the base of his skull, a building pressure in his sinuses. He worked his jaw slowly, hoping to persuade his ears to pop and relieve some of that heavy feeling. No such luck. Slowly pulling himself upright, Combeferre slid over to the window and breathed deeply of the salt-laden air. There was more moisture in the air than there had been yesterday, and the clouds overhead were hanging low, heavy and dark. He’d be surprised if they saw out the morning without at least some rain, but Combeferre trusted his gut. This storm wouldn’t break until later that night. There would be time to prepare.

By the time Combeferre slid off of his bed, Marius was standing behind him, face towel and toiletries bag in hand. For a moment, neither spoke, silence stretching between them like a living presence. Eventually, Marius nodded at the window. “There’s a storm brewing.”

Combeferre nodded. There was an unspoken understanding here, one that Combeferre had sensed the night before, but hadn’t had the energy to point out… and now didn’t have the courage. The silence built between them once more, piling high with the questions Combeferre hadn’t been able to bring himself to ask last night and the answers he suspected Marius was aching to speak.

Before Combeferre could put those seething questions to words, however, Marius took the matter out of his hands. Turning away, he busied himself with stowing his toiletries before all but fleeing the room. Combeferre sighed. A second chance had just slipped right through his fingers. Second chances didn’t come along often, third chances almost never, but somehow he knew that this wasn’t over. He would get another chance before this was through, and some inner prompting was telling him he’d best not miss it.

* * *

Having dawdled his way through his morning routine as long as he could, Combeferre fully expected to be the only one left upstairs, so finding Joly waiting for him in the upstairs hall when he emerged from his bedroom was a surprise. Joly offered him a small shrug, a twisted quirk of a smile on his lips. Ah. So, since he hadn’t gone to see a doctor, the doctor was coming to see him?

Joly was quick and efficient, Combeferre had to give him that. Once they were tucked away in the privacy of Combeferre’s bedroom, Joly subjected him to a brief but thorough physical exam. When he finished, his small, twisted smile widened into a real one which quickly warmed his eyes. “I appreciate your cooperation, Combeferre. Really.”

Combeferre snorted out a laugh as he pulled his shirt back on. “So, I’ll live, then?”

Joly tucked his stethoscope back into his medical bag. “You expected me to find differently?” Turning back to face Combeferre, he shrugged. “Enjolras worries. You know that better than any of us. So, I think you understand full well that my agreeing to this had less to do with a concern for your state of health and more to do with a concern for his state of mind.” When Combeferre slowly nodded, Joly smiled again. “Good. Then we can move on past this and get to the crux of it. Jehan would never press you—that’s a line he won’t cross—and Enjolras wouldn’t know how.” He looked up. “But I do, and I will.”

The smile slipped from Joly’s face then and he leaned forward, locking Combeferre’s gaze with his own. In that look was a culmination of a thousand late nights on emergency shifts together. In that frown was scores of shared breakdowns over lives lost in spite of heroic efforts. In the bags under narrowed eyes were the hundreds of large coffees bought for each other in lieu of proper meals. Joly understood him in ways that no one else in their group ever would, and Combeferre couldn’t answer that understanding with anything less than full honesty.

It took less time than Combeferre expected to tell the tale. By the time he was finished, Joly was sitting on the bed beside him, letting out his breath in a low whistle. Combeferre waited patiently for the shoe to drop, inwardly cringing over how preposterous the whole thing sounded in the light of day. He turned towards the window, taking in the rolling storm clouds overhead, the soft swell of the waves as the ocean began to stir in response. Out there, where the ocean and sky met the shore, it was easy to believe—to _know_ —that what he’d seen had been real. Courfeyrac had come back to him, had even left evidence the last time, and Combeferre had never doubted Courfeyrac before. Now would be an incredibly poor time to start. Bolstered by the building fury slowly rolling in from deep out to sea, Combeferre turned to face Joly once more. “Well?”

Joly met his gaze calmly, no worry in his eyes. It was with rising hope that Combeferre saw instead that the gears of Joly’s mind had turned inwards. That meant he was working the problem scientifically. And that meant that Combeferre had an ally. One who believed.

Joly smiled. “Well, nothing, Combeferre. I refuse to draw conclusions based on so little evidence and so should you.” Clapping his hands against his thighs, Joly stood up from the bed. “Now, I think Marius said something about going into town to pick up a few last minute things before this storm that’s brewing lets loose. I think the plan that was forming when I came up here was that we’d split into teams to get things done more efficiently, and I’m thinking you’ll want to put in a word there before we all head out. After all, you know best what we’ll need, don’t you?” With that, he reached out to give Combeferre’s shoulder a squeeze, a wealth of meaning in that gesture that words could not convey.

_You know best. I trust you. I believe in you._

And because Combeferre understood Joly as well as Joly understood him, when they turned to leave the room and head back downstairs, Combeferre wordlessly held his arm out for additional support. Those stairs were tricky at the best of times, and he’d seen Joly’s wince, quickly hidden, as he stood. Joly took his arm with no comment but a tightly clenched jaw as they made their way downstairs. He had no comment for Bossuet either, when Bossuet met them at the foot of the stairs, Joly’s cane in hand. He merely took it from him, shifting his weight from Combeferre’s arm to its solid wood length with a soft sigh. Bossuet smiled at them both, one eyebrow quirked upwards. “And the verdict is?”

Joly let Bossuet tuck his free hand into the crook of his arm and turned them towards the kitchen. “The verdict is that he’ll live and I’m hungry. Have we sorted out breakfast yet or do we have to go into town for that, too?”

Bossuet and Combeferre’s gazes met briefly over Joly’s head as they walked. Bossuet’s other eyebrow lifted to join the first. Combeferre shrugged in response. Normally, Joly got around better than most people, having adjusted to his prosthetic years before Combeferre had met him and hardly ever needing his cane, but… it was the storm. On bad days, that leg ached and caused him no end of trouble. Still, pity was not welcome, nor was special treatment. Joly would do what was needed, and if he couldn’t, he would be honest about it. Another understanding. So, Bossuet’s only comment was, “They managed to cobble something together, but they had to raid the last of Combeferre’s supplies to do it. Apparently your restocking trip didn’t cover everything—I know you and Enjolras were never big on breakfast, but you could have had a little pity for the rest of us!”

A soft snort from Joly. “We won’t be the only ones looking to ride out this storm; let’s hope there’s something left on the shelves that we’d be willing to consider breakfast.”

It was on that pronouncement that they reached the kitchen, quickly drawing everyone’s attention. Enjolras half rose out of his seat at their entrance, his face a grim mix of worry and nerves. Joly patted Bossuet’s arm and headed straight over to him, doubtless to talk him down. Combeferre sat down at the end of the counter, next to Jehan, waving at Grantaire and Bahorel over by the stove. Bahorel promptly walked over to put a bowl of oatmeal and some toast and honey in front of him. Combeferre raised an eyebrow at the repast. “Those are the old slow-cooked oats we kept in the pantry. You really must have been desperate.”

Bahorel settled down across from them as Jehan pushed a mug of tea in Combeferre’s direction. As he apportioned the honey between the oatmeal, toast, and tea, Combeferre considered their options. They’d gotten power back some time during the night, as evidenced by the cluster of cell phones plugged into the power strip at the other end of the counter, but that didn’t mean they’d keep it for long. There was no point in restocking anything perishable that they weren’t immediately going to use. Storm season was always a delicate business that way. Combeferre’s house had a generator if it truly became necessary, but it had only come to that once in all the years he and his family had lived on the island.

In the end, they divvied up the chores into groups. Since Enjolras had helped Combeferre stormproof the house the last time and claimed he remembered how it was done, he and Feuilly stayed behind to do it this time. At Feuilly’s nakedly grateful look, Combeferre couldn’t help but smile. There wasn’t much he could do to ease the burden Enjolras had, as usual, taken squarely upon his own shoulders, but time alone with Feuilly always seemed to calm him down when he needed to be calmed.

Bahorel and Grantaire were tasked with gassing up as many of the cars as they could, as well as getting gas for the generator, while Bossuet and Joly were to pick up whatever odds and ends in terms of basic supplies they might need, medical and otherwise. Combeferre claimed Jehan and Marius to come with him to scour the stores to find food to restock the pantry. Jehan raised an eyebrow at that choice, and Combeferre couldn’t have explained it if he tried, but he somehow knew that Marius would be best off with the two of them, in spite of the friction that always seemed to spring up between he and Combeferre. After last night… something had changed. And Combeferre didn’t want to let Marius too far out of his sight until he figured out what it was.

* * *

By the time Combeferre found parking near the market, the wind was whipping up, shaking down leaves from the tops of the trees with every gust. The temperature had also dropped. This was to be no lazy Sunday browse. They had to buy what they needed as quickly as they could so that they and all the merchants could pack up and get home. Honestly, Combeferre was surprised that any of the booths were still open. Giving Marius and Jehan each a part of the list and a direction, they split up. They had picked up what they could at the grocery store—whatever canned goods they could rustle up, along with crackers and chips and as many of everyone’s favorite snacks as they could find, along with several bags of ice. They’d keep in the freezer until they lost power, and then afterwards they could pack the few perishables they’d bought with them for a time. Unfortunately, just as Combeferre had feared, the shelves had been picked fairly clean already. Had that not been the case, Combeferre wouldn’t have even tried for the open air market that day, but with so many of them soon to be trapped under one roof together, he’d felt he had no choice.

Combeferre hurried through the market, feeling the press of the storm overhead like a ticking clock. The worst of the storm might hold off until nightfall, but that didn’t mean it was going to be sunny skies until then. They were running out of time. He picked up the remaining items on his part of the list, as well as several other things which caught his eye. He met up with Jehan on the way back to the car, but by the time they reached it and got the bags safely stowed, Marius still wasn’t there.

Damn it.

Both Combeferre and Jehan tried calling and texting, but reception was patchy at best with the storm winds kicking up. Marius didn’t answer. Cursing under his breath, Combeferre led Jehan back into the market, towards the cluster of stalls he’d sent Marius to… and there he was. His own bags set safely off to the side, he was helping a young woman pack up her stall. She wasn’t anyone Combeferre recognized, but given how long it had been since he’d lived on the island, that wasn’t much of a surprise.

What was a surprise was this: though Combeferre and Jehan were nearly frantic with the need to be away, to get home ahead of the storm, neither Marius nor his new companion seemed the least bit concerned. They might have been packing for a Sunday picnic, for all the speed they showed. The woman wore a small, soft smile on her face, her eyes crinkling at the corners every time Marius even so much as looked in her direction. Marius’ face claimed an equally sappy smile as he packed scarves and hats and gloves away into their plastic bins, every time he looked up and caught his new friend’s eye.

If Grantaire had been there, he’d have been rolling his eyes and poking fun at the clearly already-smitten couple. Combeferre had no interest in poking fun. He just wanted to be away from this place, to get home before it wasn’t safe to be on the roads, but Marius showed no sign of picking up the pace, even once he spotted Combeferre and Jehan running over to join them.

“Marius. I appreciate your desire to help, but we really need to get going.” Looking pointedly down at his watch, Combeferre continued, “We have to get back before this thing breaks.”

Both Marius and the woman turned towards Combeferre as he spoke, twin smiles on their faces. The woman turned back towards Marius, then, her hands a flurry of motions that were too precise to be mere gesticulation, but it wasn’t until Marius responded in kind that Combeferre understood. Sign language. Once they were both facing him, the woman’s hands flew into motion, again. A moment later, Marius’ voice followed.

“I know it feels so, but this storm is not as imminent as it looks. The worst of it will hold until tonight. We have time.”

There was a pause, then another exchange of signs, before Marius turned back to Combeferre and added, “Cosette is right, Combeferre. We have time enough for this. It will be alright… and I think you know it.” He tilted his head, then, waiting for Combeferre to respond.

Standing there, watching the two in front of him—soft smiles on their lips and confidence and faith in their relaxed postures—time slowed to a crawl. How many times had Combeferre known something similar when he was young? His storm sense had been uncanny. Then again, his storm sense had had help.

Courfeyrac.

Ignoring Jehan as he started plucking at his sleeve, urging him to at least start helping to pack things if he wasn’t going to help drag Marius back to the car, Combeferre turned away, lifted his face into the gently driving rain, and took a deep breath. In spite of the building fury of the storm, in spite of the sharp salt tang in the air, there was a clear, clean feel in it, one that Combeferre still could not associate with danger, even after all these years. Marius and Cosette were right. This was the calm. And it would hold.

Turning back to the stall, Combeferre dove in, lifting piles of knitwear from the table to place into their labeled bins. Jehan stood off to the side, watching the three of them work for a moment before shaking his head with a short laugh. “OK. I guess we’re doing this, then.” Moments later, Jehan had them organized into an assembly line of sorts, with Combeferre and Cosette packing things into bins as quickly as they could neatly do so, and with he and Marius relaying them to Cosette’s car.

When all was packed away, Combeferre felt a slight qualm about sending Cosette out into the beginning rumbles of the storm threatening louder and louder overhead, but she simply smiled and patted his cheek. There was a quick press of lips where her hand had just patted before she leaned back and said, as distinctly as she could, “You’re sweet. All of you. But I’ll be fine.” Glancing up, her smile widened, and she said again, in a voice that was no quieter, but was clearly inwardly directed all the same, “I’ll be fine.” Turning back to Combeferre, she added, “We all will.”

As she walked away to have a last signed conversation with Marius, Jehan leaned in close and said, “Well, congratulations, Combeferre. Maybe it really isn’t you, after all. Maybe everyone on your island is equally uncanny!”

Combeferre gave Jehan a playful shove, which Jehan returned with interest, before yelling out to Marius, “OK, enough is enough! I know you’re all convinced that we have time before this thing really slams down on our heads, but I’m getting wetter with every second we stand here and I’d like to get back and shower off before I have to do it in the dark with no hot water.”

Maybe it was because their spirits were running high along with the storm. Maybe it was because, no matter how dire the storm looked, Combeferre still thought of the island as safe. Maybe it was Marius and Cosette’s reassurances still ringing fresh in their ears. Whatever the case, neither Combeferre, nor Jehan, nor Marius was paying as close attention to their surroundings as they should have been. So, when the first crash of thunder sounded overhead, nearly simultaneous with the first flash of lightning, all three jumped.

When the second crash sounded, right on the heels of the first, Jehan let out a short squeal and bolted in the direction of the car and supposed safety. Marius paused to gather the groceries that had fallen from his bags when he’d jostled them before, but the third crash of thunder had even him abandoning the remaining apples in favor of a mad dash back to the car. But Combeferre… Combeferre was frozen to the spot by Cosette’s few accented words: _~”I’ll be fine. We all will.”~_ Because Combeferre had never in his life been afraid of a storm. Combeferre had never in his life run from thunder, or hidden from lightning. He felt more at home, more _alive_ , in the midst of an island storm than he ever had anywhere else… and now was no different.

Ignoring Jehan’s frantic appeals that he get a move on, ignoring the eyes that Marius turned on him from the backseat of the car—wide and shining and sadder than any hound dog Combeferre had ever known—Combeferre spread his arms wide tipped his head back, breathing in the rising force of the storm and silently daring it to do its worst.

Moments later… it did.

Heralded by another bright flash, there was a mighty crack that had nothing to do with the thunder, and everything to do with a branch overhead breaking loose from the trunk which had held it since Combeferre was just a boy. It came down squarely on the power line right over Combeferre’s head… and, frozen with shock and numb with a sense of betrayal he couldn’t have explained if he wanted to, Combeferre could only stand there and watch it fall.

Just before the line connected with the wet ground at his feet, Combeferre felt a hand close firmly about his wrist. Dragged nearly off his feet and still staring in shock at the falling power line, Combeferre barely even registered that someone was pulling him towards the car, much less who it might have been. There was a fleeting impression of being held tightly to another’s chest, arms like bands of steel closing around him as the ground blurred beneath his feet, speeding by faster than he would dare drive in this rain, much less run, and dark, brown eyes under wild curls, fierce with the reflection of lightning that was continuing to rain down even as they fled for safety.

Though neither Jehan or Marius could tell him later how he’d gotten from the center of the parking lot to the safety of the car without getting himself electrocuted, Combeferre knew. He knew it with a wild certainty that he couldn’t explain. He knew because there was no mistaking those fierce, wild eyes, nor the feel of the body he’d been pressed against as he was dragged to safety.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been rescued thus.

And sitting in the car, coughing out the water he’d inhaled in that desperate flight just as he’d coughed out the water of an ocean long ago, Combeferre was more convinced than ever that he was right. No matter who had seen, no matter who believed him, no matter that his frantic scan of the parking lot revealed no one abroad but them, Combeferre knew. 

Courfeyrac was here. He was real. And he had just saved Combeferre’s life. Ignoring Jehan’s fussing, Combeferre pressed a hand to the driver’s side window and whispered out into the night, “That’s one more I owe you. Thank you, my friend… thank you.”

And though he might begin to doubt it later on, in that moment, Combeferre was absolutely certain that another hand pressed against his from the other side of the glass, and the look in the dark brown eyes above it said more clearly than words ever could…

_~I’ve missed you, too.~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** You can find me on tumblr at [eirenical](http://eirenical.tumblr.com). I always welcome visitors and I promise I don't bite. ^_^
> 
> Beta'd by the incredible [bifilthatonthatseson](http://bifilthatonthatseson.tumblr.com/), who has already helped me catch several plot inconsistencies, as well has having a knack for tightening up any loose sentences, and cracking down on my overuse... of... ellipses... something I'm especially grateful for, as I always end up regretting them later. :P Maybe she stands a decent chance of breaking me of the habit a little. ^_~ Only time will tell! ;D
> 
> (Sorry, I'm giddy, I have a beta, and I WROTE THINGS. This makes me happy. I'll shush now. ^_^)


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